


Chief Rabbit

by valderys



Category: Lost
Genre: Ficathon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sawyer thinks about literature perhaps a little too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chief Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lukesaysno](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lukesaysno).



> Written for Foxxcub's J/K/S ficathon back in 2005.

"Beg me."

Sweat runs thick between them, almost oily, almost viscous. Like the air. Like Sawyer can taste Jack in the humidity, like he can fucking feel him in the breaths he takes. He pushes again, not enough, not nearly enough, and says it again.

"Beg me, Doc."

He's sheathed in warm wet heat, he can feel the trembling in his thigh muscles from where he wants to slam into Jack so hard, he sees stars, from where he holds himself on his own cusp, desperate, dying, needy…

Jack's eyes are so dark they're almost black, he makes a whistling sound, not a moan, it's so thin, not a proper sound at all. His cock is lying turgid and heavy pressed between them, and Sawyer shifts an inch, not enough, not enough for either of them, and his belly slip slides against it, more warmth, more wet heat, hard and hot against him.

"Fuck, Sawyer, fucking do it. Fuck!"

"Now, now. I said beg, Doc. Pretty talk is all very well, but it ain't going to get the job done, now is it?"

He can feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and it gives him something to concentrate on, before he loses the game he's started. And if there's one thing Sawyer can't abide, it's losing a game…

"I… won't… beg!"

And Jack is staring up at him, and now his eyes are showing their whites, and his teeth are bared. And Sawyer has to dig his fingers into Jack's hips to keep from bangin' that expression right out of Jack, to keep from fucking him so hard he bleeds. And he can taste that in the air too.

"Well, it's up to you, but I can stay like this all fucking day. I can stay like this, and watch you, and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it."

He can feel the grin breaking across his face by the changing of Jack's expression, like clouds across the sun. He holds on as he watches Jack try to struggle, but he's not exactly in the best position, and Sawyer has his weight exactly where he needs it, and… Oh fuck. Jack is in exactly the best position, and Sawyer can't help but bite his lip, as Jack pushes and strains, and… heat. Tight wet sliding heat. There are white marks on Jack's skin where Sawyer holds himself back, holds, fucking holds, he will fucking hold…

It's all a game, after all, Sawyer thinks distantly. Life. Sex. A game you can win, or a game you can lose. And most people fucking lose it, unless, like him, they get to change the rules. It's only the losers who call it cheatin'. And this is just one more rule.

It's like them bunnies, Sawyer thinks, holding himself up on his hands by sheer willpower, and every other thought concentrated on the struggle, on the desperate need to not push forward, to not hear more desperate broken whistling noises come out of Jack's mouth, more groans, more fucking beautiful cries. It's like them bunnies in the book he's reading. Efrafa versus Watership Down. It's a game to General Woundwort too, but that doesn't stop it being important, it doesn't stop him pushing it way past what any normal bunny would have done. And Sawyer stretches a little, his back arching, feeling Jack flex beneath him, and knows that thinking about the bunnies is just one more distraction, a fucking insane one, but it's working. He's on the edge, he's on the fucking edge, but Jack is on it too, and now it's just a case of seeing who'll break first.

He hasn't finished the bunny book yet, but Sawyer has a feeling it's not going to end well for General Woundwort. That sort of book is never gonna let the bad guy get away with it. And it occurs to him as he looks down at Jack as he writhes, as he fucking _writhes_, that this is nearly as good. Knowing he's made Jack like this, knowing Sawyer can make him stream filth, and make him lose it, and mark him in ways that he'll remember for the rest of his life. That's nearly as good as the begging, really. It's nearly everything he wants.

And Sawyer grins down at Jack, as a drop of sweat rolls down his nose, and his arms start to pulse with tiny thrumming jolts of pain, as he remembers that's exactly what General Woundwort did too, didn't he? Marked them. All of his bunnies. And somehow that thought tickles him, and he starts to laugh.

Jack is looking murderous now, and one hand is beating on the ground, and the other is digging hard into Sawyer's bicep, and that's even funnier somehow, as Sawyer stares down at him. Because as Sawyer begins to move, he watches Jack's eyes close, and then his head falls back, and his mouth opens. And it's fucking sweet, all of it; the heat, and the tightness, and the fucking glorious knowledge that holier-than-thou Jack is marked by him, Sawyer, marked and branded, fucking owned by him, if only for these few minutes.

He watches Jack reach and grasp himself, as Sawyer moves more strongly yet, and the slap of their flesh is a counterpoint to the pounding of his heart, and his own teeth are bared in a grimace as he feels that tightening, the start of that pull. And as it comes rushing up like the godamn riptide, he hangs his head, and it's fucking magic, fucking… And as it hits, his peak, pulsing and drowning, and whiting out the world, Sawyer bites, he bites deep and he holds on.

He tastes blood. That's the first thing. He tastes blood in his mouth, and he's panting like his race is run, and well, that's just about right, anyway. He opens his eyes and looks at Jack, just once, before sliding his legs from his shoulders and slipping out, collapsing to the ground next to him, and blinking up into green and waving leaves.

"What was that about?"

Jack's voice is calm, even, almost too controlled. And Sawyer closes his eyes as he realises he's lost his moment. It's been and gone, and he's played the game, and now he doesn't know if he's even won or fucking lost.

"Well? Jesus, Sawyer. I can't believe you did that."

And now he sounds a bit impatient, but not appalled, not disgusted, and Sawyer starts to grin again. Just a little. He opens his eyes and rolls onto his side. Jack is inspecting his leg a little gingerly, looking at the soft flesh of his inner thigh, where there is a perfectly round circle of teeth marks, the skin red and broken, a little blood running in a tiny trickle from the wound.

"Sorry, Doc, I guess I must have got carried away."

And he can hear the smirk in his voice, but Jack is reluctantly grinning too, as well as wincing a little as he touches it, although he really looks like he wants to frown as well, Sawyer can see it in his eyes. But it's hard to stay mad after a really good fuck, after all, and Sawyer is beginning to feel all the satisfying aches and twinges as they start to kick in, and reckons it must be worse for Jack.

"Wanna swim?" he suggests, knowing it'll help, and probably sterilise the wound too. Then checks himself as he thinks about that, because it's something Jack would consider, and that worries him a touch, until he thinks of the blood in the water attracting sharks, and that makes him smile again.

So Jack nods and gets up and walks towards the beach, and Sawyer watches him pass between the trees, dishevelled and mussed, and _marked_. And then he follows, shrugging on his shirt.

And he thinks idly as he walks about what else might happen in the story. Of course, it's natural that he sympathises with General Woundwort, isn't it? In the bunny book. After all, there's no-one else he can identify with in the whole godamn thing. Hazel? Nah, too goody two shoes. Fiver? Too fucking spooky. There's no-one else at all.

And Sawyer follows Jack to the sea, watches him strip and plunge into the water, admiring the planes and angles of his body, and very deliberately doesn't think of Bigwig…


End file.
